#despite that the clock-in time was 7:00. illegal

[britneyshakespeare]

in a very strange way which confounds all logic and human emotion, i do enjoy substitute teaching

[askmeaboutmyrudyard]

Part two

(the second part of me trade, also known as I forgot how to write send help)

Terryn checked the text once more and glanced at the clock in the upper right corner.

[From Terryn] 7pm, Movie tonight @ 8. Be ready

That was what he had written Chris, his roommate for over seven years, online dating status recently upgraded to husband. It was now 8:30, far past the time they were scheduled to be in the middle of enjoying their bi-monthly Date Night.

An unacceptable deviation from their predestined course as far as he was concerned. This was a tradition Chris had started since before they had even gotten together. In the early years, the military had taken its toll on the former nurse’s personal life, and he’d found himself alone with people whose schedules always seemed to conflict with his own. But that didn’t stop the dark days from coming when Chris was a bundle of manic energy barely held together in physical form by old ducktape and chicken wire. During those moments, he’d wanted. Needed, to go out somewhere, anywhere beyond the four-walled prison that made up their apartment. The only problem was he’d needed his plus one, because, when he was joined by a companion he hadn't felt quite as alone.

Terryn had agreed readily enough, not just because it meant free food(though this was a perk), but also he’d felt a bizarre sense of responsibility for his roommate. He had not regretted making the decision.

Fast-forward a few years and a ton of mutual pining and deep soul-searching later, and through it all there was not a date that they had missed.

Chris seemed accepting enough of the delay, drumming his hands on the lobby table while he played Roblox on his cellphone and surreptitiously scanned the crowd for anyone who might be taking undue interest in them, Terryn, on the other hand, was still, eyebrows furrowed, arms crossed over his chest, and quietly incensed.

The theater had managed to overbook their seating, and now he and his partner had been made to wait two and a half hours before they finally saw the damn film. They had received superior accommodation for their troubles, but that was hardly a benefit when factoring the time they could've spent literally anywhere else.

If the cinema had bothered to call, hell, even shoot off a text message or an email, just to let them know that plans had changed, it would have been one thing, a disappointment, but not one he couldn’t have rolled with.

The date would still be on; obviously, he wouldn't have canceled this on Chris, not when the guy looked forward to these things like a kid on Christmas, but there were better places to spend one's time than a noisy theater lobby.

He could have made dinner for them both before they’d set out at the very least, then he wouldn’t be sitting here grumpy and hungry. The only thing keeping him from paying for the overpriced nachos was the thought of what the ingredients had been sitting out in the open, congealing in a cruddy Frankensteinian combination of aged mystery meat and what he supposed was meant to pass as cheese would do to his digestive system.

This meant Chris also went without because Terryn would never subject someone he cared for to food he'd never feed himself. Chris hadn’t shown any interest in the menu, but if they had been in a decent place, he would have already ordered a few appetizers and shoved them in Chris’ direction. He wouldn’t eat everything on his plate, but an attempt was made, and anything was an improvement over nothing at all.

And, to be frank, He hated depriving Chris of food when the man didn’t seem to eat all that much in the first place.

Chris might not eat as much as Terryn felt he should, but he knew his partner could appreciate an attempt at a homemade gourmet dinner. After all who wouldn't enjoy a meal handcrafted by himself, using vegetables cut to perfection and stored inside cans for an extended shelf life, prepared with meats not yet considered unsalvageable, all prepared from a traditional recipe passed through generations of internet users, and stolen straight from the food website with the highest rating Terryn could find? It would have been relatively cheap, and they'd have both been fed at the very least.

Some might joke that he shared a few traits too many with Spongebob's Mr. Krabs, but unlike the crustacean, he could cook on a budget and no one had ever gotten food poisoning on his watch.

He wasn't confident this particular cinema could boast the same, if whatever he was meant to be looking at under the heating lamp was any indication, he recognized the nachos, it was hard to mistake tortilla chips after all, but number of things, one of which might have once been a corndog, were shriveled up beyond recognition.

If he hadn't already prepaid, hadn’t already promised Chris he’d get him this movie he’d have tried to convince his partner they were better off eating out tonight instead (Denny’s was usually relatively cheap and was open 24/7) and downloading the movie illegally to soothe a steadily growing need for petty revenge.

If these people caused a break in their long-held tradition, not only would he be writing a nasty letter to the manager, he would follow that up by typing up a brutal review to anyone, from Yelp to Google Maps, willing to accept his missives. He could not control how the day went, but he did have that happy power to make them regret this day.

Next time, they’d do something more straightforward. Maybe take a drive to a city they’d never been before, take a bunch of selfies Terryn wouldn’t care for but Chris would happily print. Later on, he'd add them to the growing collection of photo albums they had created together(bonus points if the places had any historical value), rent a room at the cheapest hotel they could find, and watch Netflix She-Ra while Chris cuddled up to him in his pajamas. That would have been a nice day.

Instead, Terryn had promised they’d go out to the movies.

“Just think of it,” he’d said earlier that very morning, sleep not yet chased from his voice. “You, me, and the Big Screen.” He hadn’t been as interested in the ordeal as Chris, but he’d wanted to make him happy. “No worries. No interruptions.” Terryn had meant those words, and they’d turned him into a liar. Chris had believed him because there was no reason not to, the shorter of the two was a man of his word.

He watched the numbers on his phone change from 9:00 to 9:01 and wondered if he should surrender to Chris’ demands on Facebook messenger challenging him to a Player vs. Player battle on Pokemon Go.

It was inevitable that Chris would win any match the two set themselves to as the game expected him to spend real-world currency and he’d neglected his team as a result. The thought of keeping Chris contented and distracted was the only thing that honestly made him consider it.

Their waitress came by their table and frowned at the pair who had ordered nothing but the water when it had been offered freely as they waited. He could feel her giving them pitying looks and hear the whispers of the other employees as they went about their tasks.

“Can I get you anything, boys?” The waitress, an attractive thirty-something, who stands next to their table, a notepad in her hand, prepared to jot down anything they might ask. Terryn considers the question if they ordered the theatre would benefit, but she’s been walking by, dutifully refilling their glasses with water every time she’d seen them emptied. He didn’t appreciate being made to wait, but he could be moved by decent customer service. He looks at Chris, inviting the man to order whatever he felt he wanted, before going back to check the time.

“Could I have a coffee, please?” Chis asked, and Terryn could practically hear the smile in his tone. She nodded, marking it dutifully on her notepad and frowns at the two.

“I’m sorry you boy have had to wait so long.” She says, her voice seemed genuinely apologetic. “Thank you for being so patient.” She says this with a curtsey and turns around when they both tell her that waiting was no trouble.

“It’s no trouble.” He echoes, feeling the lie eat away at his tongue, relaxing only when Chris stretched his hand across the table and took Terryn’s in his own, and smiling reassuringly at him.

The redhead takes a deep breath before sitting up, posture ramrod straight once more. He watches their waitress pass through the double doors that led to the kitchen, and he fervently prayed there would be nothing wrong with the coffee she brought back.

Chris’ grip on his hand tightens, catching his attention, and the man proceeds to give him a wicked smile. It’s the only warning he gets before a weight slides seductively against his inner thigh. It’s only his steady self-control that prevents him from jolting at the touch.

That had been a prosthetic leg touching him with familiarly he’d only ever afforded to one person.

He frowned across the table and Chris smiled, innocent as a newborn duckling. Fitting since he’d never trusted ducks in the first place.

There weren’t many patrons, most who walked within their field of vision were viewers moving to and from the concession stands and the packed theaters but the idea that even one person could have seen, well. It didn’t bare thinking of, to be honest.

Chris makes a beckoning motion and just like that he’s walking towards the restrooms, the one in the middle that says ‘Gender-Neutral.’

The doors swung open even as Terryn wondered if following the man was in his best interests.

He noticed immediately upon entering that it was a one-person stall. Chris quickly locked the door behind him.

A shiver struck him straight in the stomach, part fear, part something else as he registered how very loud the pull of the other man’s zipper sounded in the echoes of the bathroom despite the thumping base from the theater. “Chris…”

“You looked tense in there,” Chris said, a coy smirk playing on his face, watching his companion through those stunning eyes. “I thought perhaps I could help you loosen some of that pressure?” Terryn gives Chris a fresh once over, and suddenly there seemed entirely too much space between them. The shiver that’d started up in his belly deepens into a sizzle that rocketed along his spine. Chris wasn’t the most attractive man he’d ever met, but damn him for a deceiver if he ever said the man didn’t touch him in ways no other could. “And if I decline?” “Then I suppose we’ll just be returning to much of the same,” Chris says, and he’s already undoing the buttons to his collared shirt as he allows Terryn to back him up against the wall. His eyes are wide and he holds Terryn’s gaze steadily until they’re lined up, so close a breath makes their bodies touch. “Unless you’ll let me poké battle you into your early grave.” He grins mischievously. Terryn slips a hand under the open zipper of Chris’ winter coat, his palm settling against the man’s taut stomach. The light fabric of Chris’ shirt whispers along skin under Terryn’s touch. “Maybe later,” Terryn comment, and yeah, perhaps he will let Chris slaughter his team later if the man was so enthused by the prospect. Terryn runs his hand down to get a feel at what Chris is hiding in his pants, and the look in his lover’s eyes when he palms him is worth trouble alone. Chris is taller than him, so he takes a handful of that shirt and nudges that soft mouth open with his own. “You like the thought of handing my butt to me, Chris?” He asked, still referencing the game, but leaving his words open for euphemism. "You know it." There’s a challenge in his eyes and a smirk on his lips that Terryn finds captivating. Outside of Chris, Terryn’s never met a gay man so comfortable in his own sexuality before. His palm shapes the shaft thickening under his touch, and he feels the quiver in the press of Chris’ leg against his own. A firm squeeze brings an aftershock, and he considers sucking Chris off until the man’s legs damn well buckle. But then there was no doubt they’d get caught. The prospect of getting caught was probably what set this particular idea off in Chris’ mind. Terryn knew that. But there was more to it. The idea of being outside, where anyone could hear them realize what they were doing after they’d been figuratively screwed over by the theater made it exciting. Chris would only be getting this one time out of him, and then never again. All the buttons of Chris’ shirt are opened now, and he’s tugging both it and the coat free from his arms. Chris looks good when he’s all mussed up, and Terryn’s pretty sure that he's never going to see that darn winter coat and not think about how well Chris looks right now in this moment. "I think it's about time you let me help you,” Chris tells him. “I don’t know…” Terryn responds with a grin, “I’m feeling better with things as they are right now.” He makes it a mission to get Chris thoroughly debauched before his manhood feels the breeze. A nudge to the jaw has Chris tipping his head back, giving it all up as easy as you please. Terryn braces his hands on Chris’ hips to pin him in place and tongues at Chris’ throat until the hands grasping at his shoulders turn shaky and desperate, each clutch of fingers a mute request for friction. He licks a path up to Chris’ ear, breathes a laugh there when Chris’ hips jolt. Lips dragging along the horizontal angle of Chris’ cheek, Terryn goes back in for a kiss, keeping everything slow and thorough, and when Chris melts, he goes like a rumbling avalanche. A hard, full-body shudder chases the low rumble of a groan spilling straight onto Terryn’s tongue and the only thing keeping Chris on his feet is the press of Terryn’s body against his. Feeling lightheaded with all his blood gone south, Terryn can’t keep up the necking forever. He resents his own body for making him come up for air. Hauling their bodies tight, he sucks in a breath that makes his lungs ache and lets Chris have a go at the hollow of his throat. After a moment, he looks down, waits for Chris’ eyes to open, and says, “If you want to continue, you might want to remove the pants.” Dimly, Terryn notes how Chris needs to gather the strength to turn around. He can sympathize; it takes a lot more effort than it should to undo his belt. The idea of Chris fucking Terryn on his knees in the bathroom of a theater, ready and willing, seemed to be turning the man on something fierce, judging by the bulge in the man’s jeans. Chris pushes his trousers down, shorts dragging with them to show his prosthetic leg and bare the meat of his tight little ass. With a mouth pressed to the back of his neck and hands spread at the low of his back, Chris goes up on his toes. A shaky exhale marks the moment Terryn’s cock rubs naked and hot against his skin. "I hope you don’t think I’d consent on taking it raw." Chris' body quivers from a silent laugh, and sure enough, with a little digging around in his trouser pocket, he produces a small tube of Vaseline. Terryn shakes his head and laughs. It shouldn't be so surprising, but it's just so convenient he's at a loss for words. Chris' ankles inch apart like a reminder and Terryn gives him an extra nudge, moving his foot aside until he's indeed spread out and waiting. There’s nothing like making love with someone you cared for, and a rare tickle of nerves flutters around in his belly when Chris is all greased up and ready to go. He discovers that this time he's the one who must steady himself as their bodies line up together.

With the way he arches his back, Terryn knows he seems more than eager for it.

He lets Chris help him with the work regardless, and it's no adversity for Chris to pry Terryn open with a combination of thumb and phallus. Before long, Chris' putting wrinkles into his shirt and jacket, a handful of fabric crushed in his grip to expose both the slant of Terryn’s shoulder blades and the columns of muscle low on his spine. Terryn’s hands smack against the porcelain toilet to give him the leverage to fuck himself onto Chris’ cock, grimacing as he realized what he’d just touched, and planning to cleanse himself fully later on that evening. He enjoys the feel of it pulsing within him and is left frustrated that his body needs time to adjust to taking more than just the head without causing himself unnecessary damage. He feels Chris’ hands reverently traces the curves of his rump with the edge of his thumbs, moving inwards where Terryn’s skin goes from smooth to dusted with dark fuzz to furred with soft curls. Chris spreads his hand out and squeezes where it matters most, all those little hairs catch in the sweat of his palm, and he whispers little endearments that are almost lost beneath the growing compression building up in Terryn’s chest. The heel of his hand digs in past soft flesh to find muscle, and Chris spreads Terryn open until nothing is obscuring the slow strokes that get him closer and closer to bottoming out. When the slide gets more harried, and the lift of Terryn’s hips turns greedier, Chris firms his hold in the back of Terryn’s shirt. The two of them are in Sympatico now, their intimacy firm and slow and finding enough ways to distract themselves from giving in to the urge to just slam it until they come.

They both work to whip it up a little. To keep things exciting: sometimes Chris started randomly hammering at him just to get Terryn’s stability to teeter and make him steady himself, other times it's twisting back and tracing a finger down from Chris' tailbone to where the Vaseline’s got all those little hairs stuck in whorls, they nip and tuck and roll as one.

Chris gives his seat a squeeze again, peeling his hand away and watching in fascination as a ghost of the print appears in the middle of Terryn’s darkly flushed skin, before giving it a little slap.

Terryn kisses him after that last slap across his bottom and knows all the way to the heart of him the two of them are going to treasure this for a long time. He extends an arm out to rest a hand on Chris' shoulder and tries not to think about how things will change.

They work so well together and have for some time now. It’s as hard to conceptualize the future as it is to remember precisely how things were in the past.

So he focuses on the moment as best he can. On the wet sounds they make and his partner's breathing and the gritty burn that comes when Chris grips him firmly and works his johnson with purpose. He slips his hands into the other man's hair and moves, rocking back and forth with his hips and butt to get Chris moaning and enjoy the now before he gives in and finishes the job with enthusiasm.

Pushes out a ragged groan that’s still echoing in his skull when finally his body pulls, rolling in those slow waves that washed away tension as if it had never been.

Terryn rolls half on top of him and returns the favor with a rough hand and slow kisses, and when they’re both sated and sticky, he realizes how very much it’s like stepping onto the edge of a high cliff and having faith instead of a chute.

He wants to believe more than anything that Chris feels as strongly, that  Chris is his Chute.

Chris blinked sleepily at Terryn as he stood up again, helping Chris tuck his prosthetic leg back into his pants and kissing him deeply just in time for someone to knock on the door. He smirked as Chris scrambled to pull up, covering his laugh with a hand. “Stimulating enough for you?”

“Maybe a little too exciting.” Chris shook his head as the two rapidly began cleaning the evidence of what they had done.

He laughed, wrapping an arm around Chris’ waist and pulling him toward the door, thankfully no one was waiting for them outside. “Come on, I think your coffee is in danger of going cold.”